Grow or Go
by StarlightSorcerer
Summary: Richard meets the person who will change his life!


Richard impatiently drummed his fingers on his steering wheel as he stared up at the red light. He leaned back in his chair, trying to relax but all the while softly chanting "come on, come on," as though that would make the light change faster. He fumbled with the controls on the dashboard until he finally got the top down. At least he could get some fresh air while he waited. Even though the "fresh" air wasn't really fresh at all, not with all the suffocating car-exhaust floating around. As Richard contemplated putting the top back up, and stressed about the terrible air quality and its effects on his health, his phone started vibrating. He grabbed it from the passenger's seat and checked who was calling.

 _Big Head._

With an impatient sigh, he answered it. "Hey, what do you need?"

Big Head chuckled, perfectly relaxed and content. "Hey, Richard. Just wondering, did I leave my ID in your car?"

His calm tone just made Richard more upset. How could anyone be so laid-back when he was so stressed? The world made no sense. He pushed away the feeling and gave his car a once-over. "No," he told his friend.

"Okay." Big Head sounded vaguely disappointed. "Well, I guess— _Oh!"_ He snorted with laughter. "It was around my neck, _but_ it was in my shirt, so I wouldn't forget it! Isn't that great?"

"Yeah, that's so great," Richard mumbled.

"Where are you, B-T-dubs? You're gonna be late again…"

Richard glanced up at the still red light, strangling the steering wheel with one hand and his phone with the other. "I-I know, I know, yes, I know. I took another route, to try to avoid the traffic, then there was a crash, and-and-and _now_ the light—"

"Woah, man," Big Head murmured, voice low and slow. "You really gotta ch—Yeah, I said the big one!"

"What?"

"Oh, I'm ordering a drink. Did you know they have bigger Big Gulps now?" Big Head snorted in amusement. "What a world! What'll they think of next?"

Richard groaned loudly and rested his head on the wheel.

"Uhh, sorry. What were you saying? Something about a crash?"

"Yes, yes, there was a crash on the-the road somewhere so everything's backed up—" Richard paused to take a deep breath. "My anxiety books say you're not supposed to stress about things you have no control over and now I'm stressing about something I have no control over and it's really stressing me out." He waited for Big Head to comment, but he said nothing. All Richard heard was him very loudly sipping his soda. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised; Big Head did not even comprehend the concept of anxiety.

"Okie dokie doo, then," Big Head said finally. "See you in a bit!"

"Hopefully," Richard muttered miserably. He hung up and looked back at the light. It was green. When did that happen? He was just about to slam his foot on the gas when he was rear-ended. He bumped his head pretty hard on the horn, but he still felt more concerned about his job than a possible head injury. He groaned and twisted around to see what the damage was. It was worse than he thought it would be. The logo-covered van had hit him good. Richard grimaced and reluctantly looked to the driver. Unsurprisingly, he was pretty upset, beating up the wheel and dashboard and shouting. When he caught Richard staring, he grew very still and glared.

Richard stared back at him with wide eyes and then slowly turned away. Horrible visions of being dragged into the woods and beaten and left for dead flooded his mind. He quickly told himself he was being ridiculous, but then again the angry driver certainly looked ready for a brawl. He sank into his seat and lamented his small and weak body.

 _He's gonna tear through me like cardboard,_ Richard thought. _No, more like paper._ Tissue _paper._

Richard heard the driver's door open then slam shut. He turned his head to get a good look at his would-be attacker. He was somewhat heavyset, wearing some plain looking shorts, an undershirt that probably needed to be cleaned, cheap sandals, and black shades on the tip of his nose. Richard couldn't decide if he looked world-weary and terrifying, or pathetic with a side of ridiculous.

The guy was crouched by the front of his van, assessing the damage through his dark glasses. "Holy shitting fuck!" he cursed. He straightened up and looked at Richard, who shrank back. "Seriously, motherfucker? You just hit my motherfucking car, now you're just motherfucking sitting there, in _your_ motherfucking car, looking at me looking at my motherfucking car!" He scoffed. "Hope you can pay for this, buddy."

Any fear Richard felt was immediately replaced with rage. " _I_ hit _you?"_ He snorted in disbelief. "No, no, no-no-no." He rocketed over to the passenger side, threw open the door, and stumbled out into the grass.

The man glared at him. "You wanna go, Twiggy?" He grunted as he climbed over the wreckage. "'Cause we'll go! We'll go all the way! Shit, no, that came out wro—I mean I'm gonna kick your tiny ass, that's what I'm saying! Shut up!"

Richard slightly lost his nerve as the angry driver marched up to him, but he forced himself to stand his ground. "Y-you hit me," he said. "You w-were behind me, so, you hit me, so… _You_ hit _me."_

The guy harrumphed in response and flipped his hair behind him. "I think not, little person. You see that?" He pointed to the traffic light. "Green mean go," he said loudly and slowly. "Mean step on pushy fast push-push on car to make go-go! Comprende, amigo?"

Richard crossed his arms and tried his best to appear very confident and manly. "It's your fault," he squeaked. "You're responsible, so y-you have to pay for this. Not me, you." He paused. "Umm, please."

The guy snorted and pulled his phone from his pocket. "Yeah, we'll see," he said, voice dripping with self-righteousness. He dialed a number then held the phone to his ear. "Yes, Officer," he spoke loudly into the phone, all the while staring straight at Richard. "My car has been hit."

"That is not what ha—"

"Yes, that's _exactly_ what happened," he continued shouting into the phone. "And yes, there is massive damage to my car as well as to my emotional well-being, sir. And of course I'll be pressing charges, lest my emotional well-being suffer further!"

Richard just shook his head at him.

The guy looked Richard up and down. "Yes, Officer, I'm with the driver now. They are either a very feminine man or a very butch woman. Thank you. Yes. Goodbye." He made a big show of hanging up then leaned closer to Richard. "That's right, motherfucker," he whispered. "That's what happens when you mess with—"

"You're drunk," Richard muttered, leaning back with a look of disgust. "Your breath stinks like alcohol."

"Oh, does it? Pr-prove it!"

The man staggered forward, and that's when Richard got a good look at his phone. He read the screen aloud: "'Two plus five minus three plus—' that's the calculator app."

The guy jammed his phone back in his pocket. "W-well, sometimes, ya know—it's hard to find the phone part of the phone when you're…really fucking wasted _but_ I fooled you, didn't I? You fell for it!" He cackled then hiccupped. "Admit it!"

"Can't believe this is happening," Richard muttered. He went back to his car and grabbed his phone. "I'm gonna just call the police for real, all right?" He wasn't sure if the drunkard had heard him. Richard watched him climb back over his car, mumbling furiously to himself. After Richard made the call, he finally noticed all the cars swerving around the wreckage, blasting their horns. He'd completely forgotten about moving his car out of traffic. The drunk guy had already pulled over into the grass. Richard sighed and scrambled back into his car to do the same.

When that was done, Richard found the drunk guy leaning against his van, his glasses hanging from the tip of his nose, his eyes now more clearly visible. He looked as tired as Richard felt. Richard turned away, and considered putting off exchanging information until the police arrived. He really wanted to avoid talking to him for as long as possible. But then, the guy started talking to him.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry, all right? Things've been kinda shit lately, ya know? So I lost my shit. I mean, we've all been there, am I right?"

Richard turned back to him and saw his inebriated, yet warm and genuine half-smile. He felt his anger towards him dissipate slightly, though he was still very irritated with the whole situation.

"Look," the man went on with a sigh, "I'll pay for everything, if that's what you're worried about. I gotcha covered."

Richard nodded and smiled politely. "Thanks."

The man sighed and distractedly fiddled with his phone. "Just my luck, right?" he spoke loudly to himself. "Rear-ending a fucking tourist."

"I'm not a tourist," Richard told him, exasperated.

The man raised his eyebrows at him. "Really?"

Richard marched up to him and held up his ID as evidence. "I work at Hooli," he told him, in very much the same slow and condescending tone the drunkard had used.

The guy held the ID closer, flipped it around, squinted at it, then nodded his approval. "Well, I must say I'm quite surprised, 'Richard Hendricks.' If that _is_ your real name."

Richard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yep, that's me."

The guy shrugged, pulling a jokingly unbelieving face. "If you say so. I do suppose my introduction is in order." He held out his hand. "Erlich Bachman."

Richard shook his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Yes, I know." Erlich sniffed and shot a thoughtful glance at his van. "Want a beer?"

Richard let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, sure," he said, joking along with him.

Erlich nodded. "You got it." He went to the trunk and came back with a beer. He tossed the can to Richard, who managed to clumsily catch it, despite his shock. Erlich frowned in confusion. "What?"

"What?" Richard echoed. "It's eight o'clock in the morning, and I have to get to work, and I was just in an accident, and I-I'm late for my job—"

Erlich interrupted him with a long sigh and shook his head. "Oh, Richard…my sweet little naïve baby boy Richard."

"Huh?"

"You say it's eight AM? Eh, who cares? Accident? Already happened. Late for work? Yeah, you're late, so…?"

Richard was deeply offended. Though he wasn't surprised; a guy who was drunk in the early morning probably didn't find work all that important. He quickly prepared his scathing retort. " _So,_ if I don't—"

Erlich shushed him. "You were in a _car crash,"_ he said slowly. "And it pretty much— _pretty much_ —wasn't your fault, uhh, mostly, partially. The Hooli ass-hats will get it. If they don't, fuck the fucking fuckers." He clapped Richard's shoulder. "Seriously, though: the universe is a mysterious mistress. You can never be quite sure what fuckery that bitch will dish out next. So _chill."_

Now Richard _was_ surprised. In his own, somewhat silly way, Erlich made sense. Really, he was telling him what he already knew. But when that information was packaged with Erlich's eternally confident tone, it seemed to make more sense somehow.

"Party like it's 8:10, Richard!" Erlich cheered.

Richard felt an actual smile coming on. "Just a few sips," he told him as he cracked open the beer can.

"Pussy," Erlich scoffed.

"Better than being a drunk," Richard muttered.

Erlich chuckled. He stepped forward and threw his arm around Richard, nearly knocking him to the ground. "I like you. I got a feeling you're gonna go far, kid."

Richard smiled faintly. He appreciated the sentiment, but wasn't much a fan of being touched by strangers. "Umm, thanks." He was relieved when Erlich finally let go of him and sauntered over to his van.

Erlich wagged a finger at him. _"But!_ You've got far to go." He nodded slowly, as though he'd just said something quite profound. "Let this be an inspiration to you." He gestured grandly to his van. "Feast your eyes!"

Richard squinted at the vehicle, reading the name covering the doors. "Aviato."

"Yes, Aviato," Erlich drawled. "So, you're familiar with my company?"

Richard shook his head.

Erlich did a double take, then ignored him and went on. "Well, this didn't happen overnight. This took hard work. Blood and sweat and tears and urine and other bodily fluids." He clasped his hands together and paced back and forth in front of his van, gazing thoughtfully at the ground and the sky. Their casual conversation was over. Now it was time for Erlich's impromptu motivational speech. "You see, Richard…there are two types of guys in Silicon Valley. There's the ants, the weaklings. Then there's people like me, the ant- _eaters."_ He paused and nodded to emphasize the importance of his words.

Richard just nodded back, utterly unsure of how else to respond.

"And the ants, Richard, once they become eaters, will devour the ants."

Richard frowned.

Erlich walked closer to him, his gaze somber. "I fear you may be one of those ants, Richard. It's okay, don't feel bad. A lot of guys in the valley are ants. And they couldn't make it here. They could never grow into the ant-eaters they wanted to be. And so those guys have been eaten." Erlich sighed and held Richard's shoulders. "In my time here, Richard, I've eaten so many guys. I didn't always want to, but that's what happens."

"Wow," Richard muttered.

Erlich gazed meaningfully into Richard's eyes. "Do you want me to eat you, Richard?"

"Pl-please don't."

Erlich stepped back and spread his arms. "Then you must grow. That's Silicon Valley, Richard: you either grow, or you go. And by go, I mean go down somebody's throat. And by that, I mean getting eaten. Which you don't want. Understand?"

Richard nodded, silently praying the speech was over. "Yeah, I understand. Don't…" he sighed. "Don't get eaten."

"Very good. I'm glad I met you, Richard, so I could share some wisdom with you."

Richard scratched the back of his head. "Umm, just one thing, though: ants don't grow into ant-eaters, exactly, so…"

Erlich squinted thoughtfully. "All right," he huffed. "Admittedly my speech needs a finite amount of fine-tuning. When I'm sober. But the point still stands. Richard, are you gonna grow or go?"

"Well, grow, obviously," Richard murmured.

 _"'Obviously, obviously,'"_ Erlich mocked him, speaking in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. "Ugh. We need to work on that voice of yours. But anyway, tell me: how exactly are you going to grow? What's your plan?"

Richard felt his anxiety spike and a nervous sweat coming on. This was starting to feel like a job interview. Still, he realized he wasn't all that nervous, once he remembered who he was talking to. It was mostly the fact that Erlich was far from sober, and therefore less intimidating. But there was something else about him too, that put Richard at least slightly at ease. Perhaps he was just feeding off his confidence. "N-nothing's really…concrete yet," he told him. "I've got something I'm working on, it's just that my Hooli work takes up a lot of time, so…"

Erlich pushed his glasses further back onto his nose, and suddenly he appeared very serious and business-like. "I don't care about the grunt work you do for Hooli," he said, his tone simultaneously matter-of-fact and sympathetic. He stared thoughtfully at the clouds. "Gavin Belson." He shot Richard an inquisitive look.

Richard nodded in response. When Erlich remained silent, he said, "Yeah, he's the head of Hooli."

"He is indeed," Erlich said. "I don't trust him. I'd be careful around him if I were you, kid."

Richard was intrigued. "You've met him?"

"No. But I've seen him around, you know?"

"Yep," Richard said simply. He took what Erlich said with a silo of salt. After all, he couldn't know whether or not somebody was trustworthy just by looking at him. Richard didn't know much about Gavin Belson, though the Hooli commercials and a Wikipedia article and a small handful of interviews gave him a few impressions. Gavin oozed confidence, in every commercial, in every interview, at every special event. He played well the ruthless games necessary to navigate corporate life. Intelligent, intimidating, powerful. Really, he seemed very much like any other "ant-eater" in Silicon Valley. Nothing seemed to point to him being dangerous or untrustworthy, however. Even if he was, Richard was so far down on the totem pole that it really wasn't anything he needed to be concerned about. He didn't need to worry about what sort of man Gavin Belson was.

"Anyway," Erlich's loud voice broke Richard out of his thoughts. "Tell me about this 'something' you're 'working on.'"

Richard contemplated how much information he should share with Erlich. He didn't exactly know him very well, whether or not he was all that trustworthy. Richard was curious what he'd have to say about his app, however. Minus the morning drunkenness, Erlich seemed to be doing pretty well for himself. His advice could be fairly valuable. Perhaps Richard could share something with him, just a little something. He didn't have to give away anything integral.

Erlich snapped his fingers in front of Richard's eyes. "Come on, Ellen, time to wake up," he muttered in annoyance. "You got something or don't you?"

Richard blinked rapidly. "Umm, yeah, I do." He fumbled with his phone and quickly sorted through all of his notes. He tried his best to piece together a sort of mini presentation. All of this wasn't easy to do, and Erlich's intense staring made it even more difficult. Finally, though, he created an acceptable summary of his ideas. He shakily handed his phone to Erlich, who scoffed at his nervousness.

"Relax, kid, relax," Erlich said. "I swear, it's days like this I truly believe that Silicon Valley is nothing more than a cornucopia of anxiety disorders."

Richard tensed as Erlich began scrolling through his work. Erlich was giving very little indication of his feelings about any of it. He was silent the whole time, save for a couple of "hmms" and a thoughtful sigh or two. Even his usually animated eyebrows remained still. Richard held his breath when Erlich handed his phone back.

Erlich frowned at him. "So it's like some kinda music thing."

Richard let out a sad sigh. Erlich didn't like it. Of course he didn't. Why did he let himself get his hopes up? "Yeah, it's a music thing," he muttered.

"Needs some work. A _lot_ of work. But I like it."

Richard gaped at him. "Wha-? Really? Wh-what did you like about it? I mean what did you—I mean, if you could change anything—"

Erlich held his hand up to silence him. "Okay, get your tongue back in your mouth. I'm gonna have to see some more stuff before I start giving you notes and shit."

Richard grinned. "Right, yeah." He didn't really need anything more right then anyway. Just hearing that Erlich liked it was enough. The fact that he was so thrilled by a simple compliment, and one from a near-stranger, made him realize how starved for validation he was. From a brief burst of happiness, he returned to his default setting: heaps of anxiety about himself and the general state of his life.

"You look like you're fucking spacing out again," Erlich sighed. "A.D.D much?"

"Well—"

"Yeah, yeah." Erlich waved his hand dismissively. "Go chat about it with your therapist. Anyway, just so you know, I put my number in your phone. You wanna really fill me in about that app of yours, you know what to do."

"Oh, th-thank you," Richard said, surprised. "Yeah, maybe I'll call you sometime."

Erlich looked at him like he'd sprouted a second head. "No, Richard, you'll _text_ me. I don't respond to calls. Neither does anybody at all anymore in this time period. Anyway, _text_ me, and we'll meet for lunch or whatever and talk, got it?"

"Yeah. Sure. I mean, I'll think about it."

"Well, when you decide, text me— _text_ me, Richard—and I want a proper, professional fucking pitch. None of this MS Word-y PowerPoint-y elementary school colorful poster board bullshit."

Richard nodded.

It was at that point that the two of them noticed the police car approaching. Richard had forgotten about the crash, and had at least partially forgotten about his Hooli work.

"Fucking fuck," Erlich said through his teeth. "The fuzz." He grabbed Richard's beer from where he'd placed it on the hood of his car, and hurled it into the woods. "Fuck this alcohol shit, seriously, it's shit. I never should've kicked pot." He hummed thoughtfully. "Ya know, I can probably get my bong back. I know a guy who knows a guy who remembers who I sold it to when I was drunk off my ass." He patted Richard's shoulder. "Thank you, kid. I have to admit, you've inspired me."

"Umm, great," Richard replied.

"I'm much better stoned than drunk. You'll see that when you decide to text me." Erlich grinned confidently as he ambled back to the road to meet the police man.

Richard followed him, amused by his self-assuredness. Richard was still more or less on the fence, but he had a good feeling that Erlich was right. Maybe he would call— _text_ him. Maybe this would be a good path to take.

Maybe this was his time to grow.


End file.
